


Dipped in blue and green

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Genre: M/M, Soul Mate Marks, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was his soul mate? By the time Thursday asked Win to marry him, Morse was barely out of his nappies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the longest time, Thursday did not know if the name on his wrist was actually his soul mate or simply an idea. It was a name, his mother kept assuring him, but even he could see it in her face the way she scrutinized the soul mark, frowning down at it.

On Thursday's left arm, an inch below his wrist, _Endeavour_ was written in cursive green ink. Thursday supposed he should be grateful his soul mate had such a unique and memorable name. It should be easy to figure out who he or she was. Shame for them, stuck with a soul mate with a common name like Fred.

Thursday was nine when the name appeared one morning on his arm. He immediately showed it to his father, asking him to tell him to pronounce it for him. "It is French?" Thursday remembered asking. His next door neighbour was from France and his name was immensely hard for Thursday to pronounce.

"Hmmm," his father hummed, holding Thursday's arm in one hand and staring down at the name. "No, Fred, it's not. Here, say it with me. En-dea-vour."

"En-dea-vour."

"Very good. Again."

"En-dea-vour."

"Perfect. Now that you know how to say it, do you know what it means?"

Thursday shook his head.

"It means to carry on, to keep fighting. It means... to face your problems with strength."

"Oh," said Thursday, not really understanding it. He pulled his arm away from his father's gentle grasp, staring down at the name. He ran a finger over the cursive letters. "Mum's name isn't Carol."

His mother's name was Janine. But the name written in yellow ink on his father's neck was Carol.

His father sighed and gently tugged down his shirt to reveal the name more. "I know," he said. "Problem is, Fred, there's no guarantee you'll find your soul mate. It's a very nice fairy tale to believe one day you'll find them and live happily ever after, but the planet is very large and there are many people. I met your mother, and I fell in love with her."

"If you found your soul mate, would you marry her instead?"

At the time Thursday was too young to understand the severity of his question. It would be years later when Thursday learned his mother had been having an affair with her soul mate and became the reason why his parents would eventually divorce. At the question, his father's eyes sharpened into something angry and his lips thinned. He never admitted he knew of the affair before the divorce.

"I'm hungry," his father said, suddenly changing the subject. "Let's ask your mother if she'll make us some sandwiches."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Endeavour," Margaret said as she took a long breath from the cigarette. She slowly blew out the smoke, uncaring if the ashes fell upon her naked body. "That's a stupid name."

Thursday sighed. He knew Endeavour was a silly name, everyone kept reminding him. After a couple of years, he stopped caring that it sounded silly. He was tired of defending it. "It's not silly," he said, pulling his arm back. "It's... poetic."

He was nude as well, having finished sex only ten minutes ago. Truthfully Thursday didn't want to have sex with Maragret. She was cute and her breasts were humongous, but Thursday didn't care much for her personality. Her way of initiating conversation with him was to insult a passing girl, calling her a "dull-eyed cunt" and laughing it off like she meant it as a joke. Thursday would have shooed her away, except he was lightly drunk, he was twenty years old, and the sight of her huge tits had him panting after her like a dog.

"Hhmph, I don't have a soul mate" Maragret said. This was true; a small population of people were born without names on their skin. No one could confirm why this happens. "Honestly, The whole thing sounds ridiculous. If there's no guarantee you could met your soul mate, then there's no point in having one."

Spoken like a true person who didn't have one, Thursday thought to himself. He paused, and supposed she did have a point. One of the reasons why he slept with Margaret was because his mates reminded him it could be decades before he met his soul mate and, "shouldn't pass up a fucking good time."

"Ever think about of getting rid of it?"

Thursday jerked. "Huh?"

"Your soul mate's name," Maragret said. She took another long drag. She gave an ugly smile, and as smoke seeped out of her mouth she asked, "Do you want to get rid of it?"

"Get rid of it? Why-?"

She didnt't wait to hear the rest of his question. Margaret grabbed his arm, hauled it towards her, and turned it so Endeavour faced up to her. She held her burning cigarette in between her thumb and index, positioning it right above the name.

Realizing what she was about to do, Thursday ripped his arm out of her grip. A portion of the cigarette still burned him, singing his skin. He cried out and instinctively struck out, punching her across the cheek. Horrified, Thursday pushed himself away, protectively holding his arm to himself. Maragaret wailed and cursed, clutching her face.

"You fucking arse!" She screamed. She threw her cigarette at him, missed him, and got up to collect her clothes. "You stupid, fucking arse! All of you fucking soul mate fucks are delusion! You'll never find your soul mate! I hope you'll never find your soul mate! You're going to die alone because you stupid fucks are holding out for something that'll never come! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday absolutely loved it when he could make Win giggle uncontrollably. It probably helped she was a little tipsy, drunk on a few glasses of wine. Her whole face lit up and her cheeks bloomed into a pretty colour of red. Thursday grinned, repeating the joke's punchline again, delighted when she clutched at him, burying her face against his arm.

"Oh, my stomach hurts now," Win breathed, finally calming. She pushed her glass of wine away from her. "I think that's all I want for tonight."

"Do you want to go home?" Thursday asked. He was already reaching for their coats drapped across the chairs. All around them the rambunctious laughs of soldiers and their girlfriends were too loud for this small pub. Upon seeing Thursday get up, many started to crowd around, ready to take their table.

Win nodded and stood as well. Thursday took her hand, and in that moment knew what he wanted to do. He immediately dropped to one knee. Win gave out a concerned gasp, thinking he was sick. She moved to get down on her knees to help him back up when he suddenly said, "Marry me."

In retrospect it probably wasn't a good idea to ask her in a crowded pub while others waited impatiently for their table. He didn't care. He was shipping out in three days and there was a very good chance he as never going to come back.

Win gasped, her free hand going to her mouth. "Yes!" She cried. "Yes, yes!"

For the first time in his life, Thursday didn't care he had a different name on his arm. He stood up from the ground, accepting Win's happy kiss, his heart beating so wildly he thought he would faint. He was twenty-nine years old and found the love of his life. _Endeavour_ could go fuck themselves.

 

 

 

At the time Thursday couldn't afford a gold ring. Not even a silver one. The ceremony was very small, the only ones attending were Win's friends and Thursday's best mate. They exchanged boring, dull iron rings, and Thursday vowed when he got back, he was going to buy Win that gold ring.

If he came back, his mind kept reminding him. This morning there were thirty-three people in his squadron. This evening there were only nineteen. Thursday originally counted twenty, until he turned Gunner Mills over. His body moved easily, still hours away from rigor mortis, and his arm nearly slapped Thursday in the face. It was hard to read through the blood but Thursday could still make out the blue writing of _Charles_ on Mills' chest.

Thursday knew Mills had not met his soul mate. Like spouses, it was required to document if someone had met their soul mat, so the army could inform them if their mate had been KIA. The only person in their squadron who already met their soul mate was Richard Wilcox- and he was killed last week.

Thursday didn't know what was scarier: dying without ever meeting your soul mate, or dying after meeting them. Thursday already came to the conclusion he was never going to meet Endeavour. He's spent the last two decades with that knowledge, but he wondered how it was like for Endeavour. Would they wonder what happened to Fred? Would they spend the rest of their lives looking for him? Thursday didn't want that to happen anymore than he wanted Win to worry.

He should be sleeping right now. The others were, he could hear their snores and quiet breathing. Though he was exhausted, after what he's seen today, Thursday couldn't sleep. Instead he stared up at the African sky, waxing poetry and philisophical ramblings in his head.

He hoped both Win and Endeavour were happy, wherever they were at the moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"There's no overtime."

The young man startled, looking up. Even in the dim light, Thursday could make out his giant blue eyes and bright red hair. He was a decent looking man, with sharp edges around his cheeks, nose and jaw. "I realize that," he said calmly.

That was interesting. By the time five o'clock rolled around, everyone was out the door within seconds. Thursday expected the young man to be the same, to groan about wasted time and wages. "Which one are you?" Thursday asked.

"Morse, sir," said the young man. "Carshall Newtown."

Ah, the extra hands. Thursday nodded his head towards him. "Well?"

Morse's eyes widen for a quick moment. Surprised he was going to be given a chance to shine, was he? "Mary Tremlett, age fifteen. It was reported she was going to the pictures with her friend, Valerie..." He paused, shuffling through the papers in front of him. "Valerie..."

"Quellin," Thursday added.

"Valerie Quellin, who denies such an arrangement. No boyfriend, no troubles at home, so it's unlikely she's a runaway. But other than that, not much to go on."

Morse leaned his chin on his hand, shrugging. The blue lettering of his soul mate's name on his palm peeked out just enough for Thursday to see the letter F. At least Thursday could hide his name under his shirt sleeve. Having the name on his palm gave Morse no privacy, the poor lad. "Rarely does, this kind of case," Thursday said. "But we keep looking. Goodnight."

He placed his hat on his head and turned to leave. He only took two steps when he heard Morse hurrying behind him. "There's one thing, sir."

Thursday turned to face him. Morse hesitated, unsure, then said, "I've been looking at the books by Mary's bed. She has a copy of Oxford's English verse and other such reading materials."

"Young girls like poetry."

Morse made a face. "Young girls like Mary Tremlett?"

"Too high brow for a girl whose father works on the GMC assembly line, is that it?"

"What I'm saying is," Morse bit out. "They're hardbacks. Beyond the pockets of a school girl, I would think."

"Maybe they were a present. A school prize, even. We have an official line of questioning to follow, Morse, and books are not one of them."

Morse's shoulders slump, disheartened.

"Get some sleep," Thursday added, softening his tone. "Those files will still be here in the morning."

Bit green around the ears, Thursday thought as he walked towards the front doors. Eager, young, and perhaps read Sherlock Holmes one too many times. At least he was trying, Thursday will give him credit for that.

Thursday passed Arthur's desk and spotted the clipboard detailing the names of all the extra men from Carshall Newtown. Curious now, Thursday picked it up and quickly looked it over.

Linus, Adam  
Miles, David  
Mills, Christopher  
Millot, Daniel  
Morse, Endeavour

Thursday made a small, breathless gasp. He dropped the clipboard and quickly checked behind him, making sure Morse was still by the desks. The boy was too busy clearing away files to notice Thursday down the hallway.

 _He's so young_ , was literally the first thought to pop into Thursday's head. This was not happening the way he's always invisioned. His heart wasn't pounding, his palms weren't sweaty, and he certainly felt no urge to rush back over there and rut against Morse like a dog in heat. He thought at least he would feel _something_ , like the universe alinging, telling him that this young man here was literally made for him, that they were meant for _each other._

All he felt at the moment was befuddlement. The same sentence kept repeating itself, _He's so young_. How old was this boy? Twenty-five? Good lord, when Thursday asked Win to marry him, Morse was barely out of his nappies.

Drawing a breath, Thursday forced himself to move. He needed to go home, to see his wife, his children and remind him what he's worked so hard for. He was not going to be like his mother, who left the family the moment she found her soul mate. Endevaour may have been made in the stars for him, but at the moment, Morse was still a stranger.

With that in mind, Thursday left the precinct.


	2. Chapter 2

"There's a new boy at the precinct. He's part of the group from Carshall Newtown."

"Mmmhmmm..." Win hummed, taking another dish to wash it. The kids were upstairs. Sam was busy with homework and Joan was on the sewing machine, repairing one of her dresses. The soft hum from the machine was loud enough to keep the conversation between Thursday and Win private. It's been four days since the discovery of Endeavour and Thursday thought it was time to let Win know.

"He's smart, smarter than the others, I think. He has potential."

"Mmmhmm..."

"His name is Morse," Thursday took a breath. "Endeavour Morse."

Win dropped the plate she was drying. It didn't smash against the counter, only making a loud CLUNK when struck. Win's head turned to Thursday, her face lighting up. "You found him?" She asked in gleeful wonder. "Oh Fred! Have you told him?"

Thursday knew she wouldn't be insulted if he told her, but he was still nervous. Win had found her soul mate at five years old. The name Annabelle, written in red, was wrapped around Win's left ankle. They were neighbours and spent ten years being each other's best friends, fantasizing about the day when they were old enough to legally wed. Unfortunately at the tender age of fourteen, Annabelle caught the measles and died less than a month later.

If anybody could understand the pain and joy of having a soul mate, it was Win.

"No, I haven't," said Thursday. "I'm not sure I want to."

"What? Why not?"

"Win, I... I..."

Win placed a delicate hand on his arm. "You won't be like your mother."

"No," Thursday said darkly. "I won't be."

"Honey, look at me." She gently cupped Thursday's jaw, moving his head towards her. Once he faced her, she stood up on her toes and kissed him. "You're a good man and I know you love me. I love you. A soul mate is so much more than just love, Fred. It's... forever. I can't explain it better than that. Go, talk to Endeavour. Trust me, you won't regret this."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday didn't mention it, not for an entire year. He thought after Mary Tremlett's case, Morse would go back to Carshall Newtown and that would be that. Except Thursday asked him to stay, to become his bagman, and Morse did.

The boy was arrogant, but brilliant. The things he knew, the things he said had Thursday looking at him with such wonder. Morse was brave and determined and, as Thursday came to learn, fragile. He was shy and quiet, taking compliments like he's never had them in his life. He was determined to fight through his weaknesses, unfortunately refusing all help when he needed it the most.

It scared Thursday, on how easily he killed that woman for Morse. He didn't hesitate, he didn't think. His only thoughts were to protect Morse, and if the situation happened again, he would aim for her head.

The bullet had passed thorugh Morse, only taking off a small chunk of flesh with it, leaving him sore. Any other copper would've gone straight to the hospital, cracking jokes and reveling in a job well done. Morse's father was dying, forcing him to ignore his wound in order to get back home in time.

So here Thursday stood, at Morse's old childhood home. It was a lovely neighbourhood, greener than his own in Oxford. Thursday wouldn't mind retiring to a place like this, once the kids moved out. Some place where he and Win could spend their senior years, taking quiet walks and enjoying the scenery.

-some place where he and Morse could talk for hours on end, smiling, never once getting tired of each other's company-

Morse walked out, limping. He carried himself well, making his bullet wound appear as if it was nothing more than a sore msucle in his leg. His eyes were red and wet, and when he spoke, his throat was thick. "I'll... I'll be in touch."

Thursday wanted to step forward and embrace him, hold him close to his chest and tell him everything was going to be okay. Except holding him could aggravate the wound. So all Thursday could say was, "Don't hesitate to call me if you need something."

Morse gave a brief nod, unable to speak. He then turned and limped back inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Morse came back, it never felt like the right time to tell him, 'I'm your soul mate and I've known about it for a year now.' Especially not now when he was struggling to come back to work, flinching at every loud noise, and overall looking like a kicked puppy.

He was also drinking a lot more. Thursday said nothing about the bottles in Morse's sink that night when he brought Morse back to his flat. The boy deserved a drink after having the shit kicked out of him. The next day when he asked Jakes for a third glass of ale, that's when Thursday felt the need to step in.

"Look," Thursday started, licking his lips. "When's there's a shooting, sometimes there's a delayed reaction-"

Morse gave him an unimpressed look. "I'm fine," he snapped.

Thursday glanced down to Morse's hand, jiggling open the lock of the chest. By now he's seen his own name on Morse's palm hundreds of times. When Morse learned of Thursday's first name, did he think to himself, 'I wonder if this is him?' Fred was such a common name, it was more likely Morse thought, 'this could be him, but probably not. Better not bother.'

Just as Thursday reached out, ready to take Morse's hand in his, Morse popped the chest open. He dug into it eagerly, pushing away trinkets and bits of costume jewelry, taking out the small photographs.

Once again, this wasn't the time for declarations of universal proportions. Thursday pulled away, turning his attention on the photographs and the murdered girl on hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the night after Luisa's funeral, Thursday sat in his chair, staring at nothing. He didn't smoke, he didn't have the television or radio on, and the small cup of coffee Win gave to him earlier sat untouched on the table in front of him. He felt numb. No thougths filtered through his head, he wasn't hungry or thirsty, and though he had work tomorrow, he couldn't bring himself to get up to prepare his clothes.

He didn't even react when Win curled her hand around his forearm.

"I called Morse," she said. "He's coming over right now."

This got a reaction out of him. Startled, Thursday turned to her. "Why...?"

"Because you need to tell him," she said. Her hand pressed down firmer on his arm, right on Endeavour's name. "Now, Fred."

"Now is not the appropriate time-"

"Stop making excuses. No more. You've known about this for a year, and you're telling him today."

"I almost left you!" Thursday bellowed out, wrenching his arm out of her grasp. He didn't move up from his chair and only leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "If Luisa said she wanted me- if she asked me to stay-"

Twenty years of marriage, two children, a loving home and famil would've been gone within an instant. Christ, Thursday was exactly like his mother. Selfish and arrogant and cruel beyond reason.

"No, you wouldn't have," Win said with absolute certainty.

"Win-"

"Fred, I'm not so arrogant to believe I understand what it was like being in that war. Luisa gave you comfort during a time when all there was was violence and death. _I don't blame you_. You did what you had to in order to survive. Times are different now. The comfort I give you is different than that of Luisa. It'll be different than what Endeavour will give you. Please, Fred, don't deny yourself this."

Thursday wearily turned towards her. Tears dribbled out of his eyes. "God, I love you so much," he sobbed.

Win swooped down and kissed him gently, wiping away his tears with her hands. "Morse will be here in a few minutes. Go clean your face. You're about to meet your soul mate."

As instructed, Thursday washed his face, cleaning away his tears and sweat. He also brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He considered a quick shave, but decided he didn't have the time. He just finished washing his hands when the front doorbell rang.

He heard Win answer it, followed the by the sound of shuffling shoes and murmured voices. Thursday took a breath to steady himself, then came downstairs.

"Good luck," Win whispered to him as he passed her on the stairs.

Morse was waiting for him in the living room. Instead of the usual suit and tie Thursday was used to seeing him in, Morse wore a simple long sleeved blue shirt and worn trousers. It was such casual clothing, Thursday felt silly for his own grooming when Morse looked like all he planned for the evening was reading a book. "Hello, sir," he greeted.

"Hello," Thursday said back. His heart was beating loudly in his chest. "Sit down, I have something I need to tell you."

"Is something wrong?" Morse asked as Thursday took his own seat next to him on the couch.

"No, nothing's wrong. I... Morse, first of all, I want to apologize. What I'm about to tell you, I've known since the first day we met. I... the time never felt right to reveal... to..."

Aw, fuck, everything was coming out wrong. He was stumbling over his words, mumbling when he could speak. He grasped his cuff, unbuttoning them, deciding the best way was to pull up his sleeve and-

Morse stilled his hand. "I already know."

"What?"

"My name is on your arm. I know."

"I..." Thursday felt like his brian was short circuting. "How long...?"

"The same as you. Since day one."

"How? Why?"

"You registered your soul mate's name with the local library years back. While I was passing out the fliers on Mary Tremlett, I decided to go check, simply on a lark, and there you were."

Oh god, Thursday suddenly remembered. He registered his name in the system fifteen years ago. When Mickey Carter was assaulted, the bastards had burned off his soul mark with cigarettes. Not even Thursday knew whose name was on Mickey's arm.

 _May they find each other in the cosmos_ was written instead on his tombstone.

Endeavour was registered with the army, but those were sealed records. The library was public, allowing those seeking their soul mate an easy way of searching. Thursday didn't do it search for his soul mate, not when he already had Win and the kids at home. He only did it so one day, if _Endeavour_ ever came to Oxford on a whim, he had a chance of knowing someone was out there for him.

"As for why," Morse continued. "That day I came to pick you up, I meant to tell you, but I saw you were married. You had kids. I didn't see the point of disrupting your life."

"You didn't want...? Oh my god, you're _perfect_."

Thursday leaned forward and grasped the back of Morse's head, pulling him in. He could've easily kissed him. Instead, he pressed their foreheads together as he cradled his hand through Morse's hair. With his other hand he reached out to Morse's palm, pressing his fingers against his own name. "I never thought I would find you."

"I didn't think you would have me," Morse said. He slipped his hand under Thursday's sleeve, his fingers brushing against his own name on Thursday's forearm.

When they pulled apart, they didn't embrace or kiss. Thursday got up to make some tea, and as the water boiled, they talked. Morse had his mark since the day he was born, and though he knew it was futile to track down someone with the name _Fred_ , he didn't stop trying. Thursday shook his head. "You're such a romantic. Please tell me you had someone else, that you weren't waiting for me."

"I did," Morse said. He didn't offer up the story behind that. "I'm glad you didn't wait for me. I'm glad to know you're happy."

"I still don't feel it." At Morse's confused look, Thursday clarified, "I always thought when meeting your soul mate, it was suppose to be... more. Bigger, grander, trumpets playing, music swaying. It's been a long day, Morse, and mostly all I feel is exhaustion."

The kettle whistled. Thursday couldn't summon the strength to get up to pull it off the stove. Morse stood for him.

"I'm sure that'll come eventually," he said, walking to the kitchen. "We have forever to find out."

 

 

 

 

 

_We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote at the end was from Ann Druyan, Carl Sagan's wife. It's one of my most favorite romantic quotes of all time. Seriously, I tear up.


End file.
